Winking at the Woodpecker

 —Robert Witmer
—Poetry by Robert Witmer, Tokyo, Japan
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

WEED WIDE ENOUGH TO WRAP A FAIRY IN
 
I watch her weeding. I suppose the flowers like it, not having to share the sun with inferior plants. That afternoon in the museum, as we hurried past the Masaccios to the Masters of the High Renaissance, I followed her like a bloodhound. Iron bars on the windows. Those painted pines in the distance, like green steeples reaching for the light.

 

 

 

 

the moon slips
behind a cloud
angels undressing the stars

* * *

ceramic cats
and plastic flowers
the widow's garden

* * *

old yearbook
a cheerleader smiles
at the teapot's lonely whistle

 

 

 

 

EVIL SPELL
 
I thought ewe were joking about the guillotine. Sushi for breakfast. A strip stake when the son goes down. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Count Dracula and then start looking. And now fare queen my doubt comes dew. Mourning in the roses. Thorns in your crown. A-tisket, a-tasket. My head in a basket.

 

 

 

 

a breeze flutters
the torn screen
sunlight in a well

* * *

tiptoeing across the street
to a seedy hotel
the puffed-up pigeon

* * *

the hitchhiker's thumb
tucked in his mitten
a four-leaf clover

 

 

 

 

PUT IT ON A POSTAGE STAMP
 
In 1946, the Belgian poet, anarchist, surrealist, and civil servant Louis Scutenaire wrote: “A commendable activity would be the reconstitution of extinct species … It would only take courage, patience and science, and some genius.” 2024. Check. Done, or rather, in progress. Courage. A vexingly subjective judgment. Patience. Well, yes. Sands through the hourglass. Degrees. Experiments. Breakthroughs. Breaking news. Some genius. Determined it was a good thing to do. Big to-do. Making the news, with something old, something new. Nothing new under the sun, saith the Preacher. A game “mixing the rules of chess with those of blindman’s bluff.” A hidden door. Back to the past. The chance of a lifetime. To repeat our mistakes.

 

 

 

 

swinging
with her mom
baby gibbon

* * *

class reunion
everyone looking
like someone else

* * *

grandmother's yarn
the world she weaves
with her soulful voice

 

 

 

 

AUGUST
 
I was Zorro on the carport roof. I always liked black. The handle of my toy gun was black, with a long silver-colored barrel. Kenny was calling from the fort by the swing set. The summer sky was a deep blue, the backyard all green grass. Up on the roof a warm breeze blew. One tiny cloud, slowly disappearing. Kenny kept calling. They were coming.

 

 

 

a little boy
alone in the park
tossing a ball
as he whistles
to the blind dog

* * *

our conversation lapses
a failing light
slants across the dusty piano
between us
the keys you leave behind

________________

Today’s LittleNip(s):
—Robert Witmer

birds hush
and like the evening seem to know
why she cries

* * *

growth rings
in the oak
by the fireplace

* * *

knock on wood
another year
winking at the woodpecker

_________________

For the past 46 years, Robert Witmer has lived in Tokyo, Japan, where he served as a Professor of English at Sophia University until his retirement in 2022. He still teaches a course in Creative Writing at the Japan branch of Temple University. He has also had the opportunity to teach courses in poetry and short fiction at a college in southern India. 

 

Robert's own poems have appeared in many journals and anthologies. His first book of poems, Finding a Way, was published in 2016. A second book, Serendipity, a collection of prose poetry pieces and haiku sequences, was published in March 2023. Besides these original works, he served as the lead editor for a series of translations of contemporary Japanese plays, Half a Century of Japanese Theater. Welcome to the Kitchen, Robert, and don’t be a stranger!

_________________

—Medusa

—Robert Witmer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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